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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595118">an open sky of redemption</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander'>Lire_Casander</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, Jesse Manes is His Own Warning, M/M, Poisoning, Torture, mentions of queer bashing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:02:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,978</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex Manes encounters a small problem while trying to capture Captain Evans - he finds himself ambushed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michael Guerin/Alex Manes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Time After Time: A Roswell New Mexico Alternate Era AU Event, there will always be an us (in every world in every story)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>an open sky of redemption</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculaspetbee/gifts">draculaspetbee</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the <a href="https://alterarnm.tumblr.com/">Time After Time Event</a> over a Tumblr, <b>Day 2: pirates</b>.</p><p>Prompt given by <a href="https://draculaspetbee.tumblr.com/">draculaspetbee</a>: <b>Pod squad are pirates &amp; the Manes boys are sent to hunt them (angsty, hurt/comfort fic where the Pod Squad is a crew of pirates and Alex and the other humans have been sent by Jesse to try to capture them. Ohh and/or capturing Michael is the only way Alex will be out of debt to the crown? Depending on how angsty you wanna go, Alex would probably be in debt bc he’s gay, society wasn’t really accepting back then)</b></p><p>Title from <i>Silver</i> by David Cook. Beta'ed by <a href="https://manesalex.tumblr.com/">manesalex</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He blinks slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light. At first he doesn’t recognize his surroundings, everything dark in the impending light of dusk, but when his pupils finally get used to the dimming light, he realizes heʼs no longer on the mainland. He groans. </p><p>“Shut up,” he hears above him, tongue clicking against teeth. </p><p>He shakes his head, trying to clear it, but the movement only makes the headache thatʼs throbbing in his skull grow more painful. He groans again, and again the same voice orders him to stop making noise. </p><p>He knows that voice, has been hearing it in his worst nightmares for months now. He’s a pirate hunter, sent off to capture and bring to justice the most dangerous criminals sailing through the Kingʼs seas, and yet heʼs still scared of Captain Isobel Evansʼ voice when she spits threats and orders like sheʼs the only one capable of bending men to her own will. </p><p>When he looks up, he can see her — tall and tanned, blonde hair slicked back in a ponytail and clothes so tight that they don’t leave anything to the imagination. Good thing heʼs not so easily distracted by women, or else heʼd be in a deeper trouble than he already is. </p><p>“Make me,” he manages to grit out through the pain in his head. His hands are tied at his back, probably around the pole he can feel against his bare skin, but he canʼt really feel anything past the pain coursing through his muscles, as though heʼs endured a beating. </p><p>He doesn’t remember much from the night before, other than that he was at the tavern with his brothers, ready to infiltrate into the enemyʼs ranks, when he felt a sharp blow to his head. Then, everything was dark and the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a filthy floor with his hands tied. He doesn’t know how long heʼs been out cold, he doesn’t know where he is exactly. He knows, though, that no one would miss him if he doesn’t come back; heʼs only useful if he ends up capturing one of the Golden Trio — Captain Isobel Evans and her brothers Maxwell and Michael, infamous in the whole known world for their violent crimes and their recklessness. He tries to sit up straight, choking down on a snort at the stupidity of his own thoughts, and he rests his head back until he hits something cool. A pole then, he decides. </p><p>“Who are you and why are you hunting us?” Captain Isobel barks out. He wants to laugh; itʼs evident that she isn’t used to having hostages in the way she doesn’t hold her words, the surprise evident in her voice, coloring everything she says with a tinge of uncertainty. </p><p>Heʼd have a chance at winning over her in this dispute, had he had full motion range in his functional limbs. But right now heʼs tied and he knows that, if he looks down at his lower body, he wonʼt see the fake leg heʼs been using for the past three years. He holds back a sigh; heʼs the best Manes hunter, even down to just three limbs, but he canʼt do anything if he canʼt stand on his two feet. </p><p>“Speak up!” </p><p>“Thought you wanted me to shut up,” he replies, the words rolling off his tongue before he can stop them. </p><p>Captain Isobel hits the side of his head with the handle of her sword, and the world fades into black.</p>
<hr/><p>“Easy, easy, or else youʼll end up puking your intestines out,” he hears next, when he comes to with an even harsher headache and begins to fret against the restraints keeping him in place. </p><p>This voice is different, deeper and richer, and he decides he wants to see whom it belongs to. He cracks one eye open, the light fully hitting him, and takes in the sight in front of him. </p><p>A boy, not really much older than himself, is crouching next to him, holding out a wet cloth thatʼs dripping onto the floor. His head is framed with wild curls like a backlit halo, and his eyes have a tinge of green in between the honey that dominates the whole ensemble. Heʼs struck by the open beauty in the features he wants to get lost within, such is the appeal of the boy whoʼs looking down with something akin to pity in his eyes. </p><p>“Who are you?” he manages to croak out. The boy smiles. </p><p>“Guerin,” he introduces himself with ease. He reaches out and wipes the cloth across Alex’s feverish forehead. “And youʼre Alex Manes.”</p><p>He nods slowly, his skin craving the coolness provided by the cloth against his forehead. “How did you know?” </p><p>Guerin chuckles. He drops the cloth to the floor and sits in front of him, producing a flask out of his clothes and offering it to him. He refuses, at first, but Guerin is relentless and he manages to force a gulp down his throat. “Your reputation precedes you. That,” Guerin adds with a smirk, “and the fact that youʼre lacking a leg, just like a pirate. Alex Manes is the only hunter who looks like a pirate, sounds like a pirate, and yet heʼs on the Kingʼs side.” </p><p>He takes in Guerinʼs appearance — baggy clothes, a filthy shirt thatʼs seen better days, a streak of mud across his cheek — and decides this boy must be a hostage of the pirates who captain this ship. He may have a chance, now. </p><p>“Help me,” he says, voice rough and hoarse. “Help me, and I will get you out of here.” </p><p>Guerin gets up, the smirk falling off his face, and he shakes his head. “Why would I want to get out of here, Alex?” he says, and never his name had sounded so lyrical. “Rest, you’re going to need to be fresh when the Captain interrogates you again. And this time, you better want to answer her questions,” Guerin warns. “She can be reckless when she doesn’t get what she wants.” </p><p>Before he can ask anything else, Guerin is out the door, and the sound of the lock being slid into place is the last thing he hears before the world dissolves into black once again.</p>
<hr/><p>The next time he wakes up, it’s dark outside once again. The setting has changed, too — he’s no longer in the ship’s hold; he’s being held in what looks like a sumptuous cabin, sitting on an uncomfortable chair that he’s thankful for. Anything’s better than the soil where he’d been left to rot, an unknown amount of days before. He doesn’t have his hands held at his back anymore, instead they’re free in front of him but he feels a restraint around his waist and right above his knees, holding him in place against the pole. His leg is still missing, and he thinks that’s the reason  behind freeing his hands — Captain Isobel Evans knows he’s almost harmless without full range of motion.</p><p><i>Almost</i>.</p><p>He blinks, his sight suffering from the different scenery lightning, and when he focuses long enough he can see Guerin in a corner, holding another cloth that’s, once again, dripping on the floor. </p><p>“Guerin,” he manages to croak out. He feels feverish, and for a second he wonders if the pirates who are keeping him hostage have given him some kind of drug to make him feel dizzy and sick. He doesn’t have enough time to dwell on that thought, though, for Guerin moves forward and kneels in front of him.</p><p>“Alex,” he greets, trying for cheerful, but there’s a frown in his brow and his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re awake.”</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I be?” he whispers, his throat parched. Guerin lifts a hand and, with a finger, he helps his lips to part, draining the cloth into his open mouth. He chases the taste of cool water as though he’s been thirsty out of his mind. He gulps, and watches as Guerin takes the cloth back after a few seconds. “What have you done to me?”</p><p>“You were really sick when you got on board,” Guerin explains. “You were lucky it was the Captain after you. If it had been any other pirate, you’d already be dead.”</p><p>“My group knows where I am,” he lies through his teeth, his head pounding like he’s got a hammer nailing a wall inside of his skull. “They’ll be here to capture your captain and her brothers, and you’ll finally be free.”</p><p>Guerin shakes his head and grimaces slightly when he lifts a cold hand to touch Guerin’s wrist. “You’re freezing,” he says instead of acknowledging the offer he’s just made. “You should have come back to normal body heat by now. I need to get the physician on board.”</p><p>“Wait, wait,” he manages to mutter, his eyelids feeling too heavy to remain open, his body suddenly shutting off. “Don’t leave me. Please.”</p><p>He’s aware, somewhere deep in his psyche, that he’s pleading to a hostage who probably believes that pirates are the greatest creatures to ever walk the Earth — or sail its seas, for that matter — but all of a sudden he feels like he’s being chased by death and he can’t win this race. Not today.</p><p>Probably never.</p><p>“Rest,” Guerin says, reaching out and placing one hot hand on his cheek. “I’ll be here when you wake up next time, I promise. But now, you need to sleep.”</p><p>He closes his eyes; he tells himself that it’s going to be just a couple of minutes, and then he’ll be awake long enough to fight whatever they’re dosing him with. Just a couple of minutes, and he’ll be ready to fight.</p><p>Slumber claims him as he leans into Guerin’s comforting touch.</p>
<hr/><p>He’s running, trying to escape the Red Jackets, limping his way out of the shady tavern where he’d just had a few drinks, chatted with a few fellow sailors. He thought he was safe.</p><p>He thought he’d survive.</p><p>He’s running, his right leg hurting as he looks frantically for a place to hide. He doesn’t dare to look down at the damage done by an arquebus shot inside the tavern when soldiers who abide by the King’s rules have raided the place, sweeping it in their search for sinful perversions. He ducks new bullets, the pain in his leg deepening until it’s all he can feel, until he thinks he’s going to get cut in half if he takes just one step further. He collapses on top of a pile of dirt accumulated on the curb, face first, fists balled up so tense that he fears he might snap some fingers. There, defeated and foul, he waits for his end to come.</p><p>A hand lifts him up, strong and heavy, and he turns around to see his own father’s gaze, steel and iron branded together in blue and inexpressive eyes. He shivers. He knows it’s the end, if Jesse Manes has set out to hunt his own son. He feels strong hands closing on his throat, squeezing, digging. He wishes he could close his eyes before the last strike comes, but he’s too drawn to those blue eyes that are boring holes into his soul.</p><p>Only the blue morphs into green and then into something honey-colored, and he finds himself drowning, suffocating in those orbs who have exchanged hatred for something eerily similar to what he saw whenever he caught his mother looking at him during his most tender years.</p><p>“Guerin,” he gasps, fighting for air as he tosses and turns beneath the force that’s pinning him in place, choking him.</p><p>“Alex, Alex, wake up!” he hears in the distance, a murmur of a voice he once knew. <i>Kyle</i>, he thinks, but it’s impossible. Kyle had to cut himself off from Alex’s life in order to survive — he couldn’t be associated with a criminal like him, not if he wanted to lead a respectable life as a physician. “Alex, it’s just a nightmare, you’re alright, you’re alright,” he keeps hearing, hands feeling him underneath his shirt, touching his feverish skin and pressing in several places all at once, attempting to find something wrong in him.</p><p><i>Everything’s wrong!</i> he wants to scream, but he doesn’t have the strength. Even opening his eyes seems like too strenuous an effort, so he lulls his head back and remains limply on top of the chair where he’s been sitting for almost as long as he’s been aboard this pirate ship.</p><p>“Alex, Alex, stay with me, please,” adds a different voice. He’s definitely hallucinating, for Guerin’s voice sounds way less harsh than it has been these past days when he’s taken care of him, always as though Guerin had been forced to do it. He wants to shake his head, he wants to tell them to stop, to allow him to go, because he’s of no use anyway — he’s been hunted by his own family, and he traps and kills people for a living, the world would be a better place without scum like him — but he doesn’t find his voice. He fears he’s lost it forever.</p><p>His head hurts so much, it makes it impossible to think straight.</p><p>So he gives in to the pain.</p>
<hr/><p>There’s a soft hand smoothing the wrinkles in his undershirt when he opens his eyes. It’s darkening outside, if the dim light coming through the bull’s eye in the cabin is any indication, the sharp colors of dusk filtering through the dirt on the glass. He’s no longer sitting on a chair, restrained and held up; he’s currently lying on a bunk, a mattress under his back and a pillow that’s not made of stones and wood under his head. He groans and tries to turn on his side, only to find the same hand stopping him with a gentle but firm pressure on his chest. “Easy there, soldier,” he hears. It sounds like Guerin. “We don’t want you to get all dizzy again.”</p><p>“Where am I?” he manages to say through his dry lips, teeth clashing as if he hasn’t spoken in weeks. He doesn’t know how much time has passed since the night he met up with his brothers to think of a strategy to take over Captain Isobel Evans’ ship and defeat her.</p><p>“In the Captain’s quarters,” Guerin explains, entering his field of vision once he opens his eyes. “You’ve scared the shit out of all of us.”</p><p>“I thought I was your hostage,” he points out feebly. He sits up, finding he’s not feeling dizzy and that he can actually remain seated for a small amount of time without the sickness hitting him. “Pirates don’t cure their hostages.”</p><p>“Maybe you’re not a hostage,” Guerin says slyly. “Or maybe we’re not pirates.”</p><p>“If this is Isobel Evans’ ship, then you’re all outlaws,” he spits. His head isn’t hurting anymore, but he can’t think clearly. Maybe it’s a side effect of whatever they’ve dosed him with, something strong enough to make him imagine he’s heard Kyle Valenti’s voice.</p><p>“How’s our patient today?” comes from the door as it opens easily, and he jumps on his spot on the bed. </p><p>“Kyle?”</p><p>“I see you’re awake, and you look healthier,” Kyle says nonchalantly, as though it’s normal to be found in the company of pirates and outlaws when he’s, in fact, a reputed physician. “If you’re feeling better, maybe a walk on the deck might do you some good.”</p><p>“What the actual hell, Valenti?” he barks, regretting it almost immediately. The sharp sound reverberates inside his skull and amplifies his residual headache. “What are <i>you</i> doing here? Shouldn’t you be somewhere else? I don’t know, not being associated with criminals?”</p><p>“You wound me,” Guerin jokes, helping him out of the bed. “You’ve heard Valenti, you should go out for a bit. I may need to keep you restrained because of, you know, you being a Manes set out to hunt everyone on this ship, but then again, nobody’s perfect.”</p><p>He wants to resist, but he finds himself too weak to even fight against the hands hovering above his waistline, a presence by his side that he wants to find atrocious but that only heightens his already overstimulated senses. Kyle chuckles when they walk past him, muttering, “I bet you didn’t think you’d end up like this when you signed up for this job, Manes.”</p><p>His first reaction is to throw a punch into Kyle’s stupid face, but he doesn’t have the strength. He doesn’t understand half of what’s happening these days — he’s lost track of time, he’s being tended to by pirates and their minions, and Kyle Valenti seems to be at ease on board a pirate ship. The world most definitely is ending, and he can’t do anything to stop it from collapsing into oblivion.</p><p>He takes a step outside the cabin, and doesn’t swat away the hand that’s helping him keep upright as he soaks in the first rays of sun in a long time, even if they’re dying like the day, merging with the horizon in rivulets of water and color.</p>
<hr/><p>“I know why you hunt pirates for a living,” Guerin says one morning while they’re sitting in his favorite spot on the deck, next to the helm where Captain Isobel is usually seen steering the ship throughout the seven seas. He’s sitting with his back against one of the masts, eyes closed and face turned up toward the sun.</p><p>“Now you do?” he whispers. It’s been several weeks since he was first captured by the pirates, and half of them have been spent sailing, with the ever annoying presence of Kyle Valenti hovering above him with treatments for his different ailments. He hadn’t even realized he’d been so sick until Guerin gave the alarm that he was feverish and raving.</p><p>“You’re in debt to the crown,” Guerin explains simply. He opens one of his eyes and sees Guerin against the same mast, hand over his eyes as a visor to keep his sight from burning under the sun. “And you think this is the only way to pay it off. But it isn’t. The reasons why you’re caught in this mousetrap aren’t worth it. Believe me. You’ve done nothing wrong.”</p><p>“You think you know an awful lot to be just a sailor’s apprentice, Guerin.”</p><p>“Who ever said I was just an apprentice?” Guerin mocks him, flopping down beside him, his curls brushing against his arm in a cascade that washes softly over him. “I sure as hell didn’t.”</p><p>He closes his eyes again. He doesn’t want to argue, not when he’s comfortable enough to allow a complete stranger to touch him the way Guerin’s touching him right now — a brush of arm on arm, a quick caress to get a lock out of his eyes — and he doesn’t want to risk the precarious balance he’s earned after mingling with the pirates for so long. If he wants a shot to get out of here, he has to lay low and make them believe he’s on their side before he sends them all out to the gallows.</p><p>Only, he doesn’t think he can send Guerin off and live with it. There’s something in the way Guerin looks at him, almost reverently, with a fierce feeling of belonging that almost makes him forget the reasons why he became a pirate hunter in the first place. Guerin has something about himself that makes every cell in his body sing and twitch and roar, and that’s something that never happened before, not even during the nights when he was bold enough to seek the company of his preference in the shadowed world of discarded and outcasts. </p><p>Guerin is staring at him as though he’s a fountain full of gold when he opens his eyes once again. There’s so much swirling inside those whiskey-colored eyes, so many intricacies waiting for him to disentangle them, that he feels like he needs to look away. But he can’t; every time he tries to avert his eyes there’s a force stronger than himself that makes him look on, until all he can see is Guerin filling every small spot in his vision field. Guerin smiling softly. Guerin leaning in. Guerin placing a hand behind his neck and touching their foreheads softly.</p><p>Guerin asking for permission without using any words.</p><p>He’s been fighting against his own feelings for so long that it takes him a while to identify what he feels and put a name on it. Once he does, he doesn’t feel as free as the Holy Writings say the truth would make him. Instead, he feels trapped in a situation where he knows he can’t ever win — if he gives in and tries to seek answers in Guerin’s expressive eyes, he’s doomed and condemned, both body and soul; if he resists and brings the whole ship to the gallows as is his job, he risks losing something more important than just a few new acquaintances.</p><p>He nods slightly, and gets lost in the press of lips on lips until the sun goes down, drowning every single complaint that might have arisen in his soul, now sold and condemned for all eternity.</p>
<hr/><p>“Your brothers poisoned you,” Kyle says matter-of-factly the first day heʼs allowed outside of his own. He gapes at his friend, unable to form a coherent thought about that. “That night, when the Captain found you. Your brothers were out for your blood.” </p><p>“I knew they despised me,” he muses staring ahead into the immensity of water surrounding them. “I never believed they would be able to try and kill me.” </p><p>“Donʼt underestimate them,” Kyle warns him softly, almost affectionately. “You were lucky Michael found you when he did.” </p><p>“Michael?” he asks stupidly. He believed, for the most part of his hostage time on board of this ship, that it had been Captain Isobel Evans who found him and captured him. In fact, he doesn’t think heʼs ever seen any of her brothers — heʼs started to believe theyʼre legends. “Iʼve never seen her brother.” </p><p>Kyle shakes his head and stares right at him as though heʼs grown a second head. “Alex, you know why they brought me on board, right?” </p><p>“They kidnapped you,” he says, blinking. Heʼs always thought that Kyle Valenti was there against his will, but something in his voice is telling about the real reason behind it. </p><p>“No, they didn’t, Alex. I came aboard willingly.” Kyle huffs out a laugh, and manages to collect himself before it escalates; there are already enough pirates on the deck for them to bring attention upon their presence. “Remember how I told you about my fiancée?” </p><p>“The one who disappeared into thin air one night and you made me track her for three months until suddenly you decided to give up? Yeah, I think I remember her.” </p><p>“Jenna was here,” Kyle explains bashfully. “And Liz and Rosa and Maria. Theyʼre all here. Thatʼs why I chose to accept Captain Isobelʼs offer to come on board to try and save you. No one ever comes aboard without an express invitation of one of the Captains.” </p><p>“Then this is worse than I thought!” heʼs scandalized. There had been several cases of missing people over the past months, some he hadnʼt known about and some who were dear to his heart. Heʼs still searching for the three girls he grew up with, and who vanished into thin air one chilly night in February. “These pirates took not only money, theyʼre taking hostages!” </p><p>“No, they arenʼt,” comes Guerinʼs voice from behind, starting both of them. “Iʼm sorry, Alex, I wish youʼd found out differently.” </p><p>“What do you mean?” He turns around to face Guerin, and is met with a vision of the man dressed the way the tales describe Pirate Michael. “Guerin?” </p><p>“All those people came here willingly, looking for a better future than to sell themselves for some bread, as would have been your friendsʼ fate,” Guerin says slowly. “We took them in, gave them a purpose.” </p><p>“<i>We</i>?” He knows the disbelief in his voice is evident, but he couldn’t care less. </p><p>“I am Michael Guerin, Alex,” Guerin finally says. “And this is my ship as much as it is my sisterʼs.” </p><p>He just wants to scream. He wants to smack something. He wants to cry. </p><p>For the past few weeks heʼs been entertaining the idea that Guerin was being as honest with him as he was being with Guerin, but it seems the feeling hasnʼt been mutual. He’s spent <i>weeks</i> waking up side by side, engulfed by Guerin’s body heat, surrounded by limbs that provided safety and peace, something that he now knows was an elaborate façade. During the whole time heʼs spent falling in love with a man he thought shared some similar experiences with him, Guerin had done nothing but paint him like a fool. Heʼs been played. </p><p>“Get out of here, you two,” he coughs out, too busy trying to keep the sudden tears at bay. “Leave me alone.” When none of them budge, he repeats, louder. “Leave me alone!” </p><p>It comes out like a prayer but he feels the words tearing at his insides, urging him to take them back. </p><p>He stubbornly stares ahead of himself until Guerin retreats like heʼs been slapped on his face.</p>
<hr/><p>“Boarding!”</p><p>The yells could be heard throughout the whole ship. He grips the railing with both hands until his knuckles become white, while everyone around him rushes to their positions to either secure the ship or take it by force. When he woke up this morning, he hadn’t thought the day would end up with a battle cry and so much blood that not even sweeping the boards several times will ever clean it up.</p><p>Guerin’s running around the deck, brandishing a sword in his scarred left hand — a story he has yet to learn, but given the circumstances he isn’t sure he’s ever going to hear about it first-hand, or ever, even in the form of fables and legends passing through generations. All he wants to do is protect Guerin, and he’d kick some sense into himself if he had more time, but right now he’s too busy ducking jabs and jumping across the ship, even with his fake leg slowing him down.</p><p>There’s a moment when he loses his balance for a second, slipping on a wet patch — maybe blood, maybe just water from the offensive boarding — and he scarcely misses being hit by the handle of a sword. He hears his name, but he feels like he’s underwater, and all of a sudden he’s staring at the pointy edge of Jesse Manes’ sword, forcing him to stop dead in his tracks and gulp, facing a new threat that feels as old as the whole world.</p><p>“Alexander, you’ve got to decide,” his father is saying, but he almost can’t hear him over the rushing in his ears. “Will you choose some tramp over your own family, over your own blood?”</p><p>He looks over between Guerin, who’s somehow managed to become trapped between Flint’s sword and a wall, and his father, who’s pointing at his throat with his own sword.</p><p>“Alex,” Guerin says with a thin voice, just a thread of sound barely audible above all the noise, above Isobel crying out in pain and Max yelling as he slices Red Jackets left and right. “Choose to live.”</p><p>And so he does.</p><p>With a swift movement, he disarms his father when he is least expecting it — always disregarding his strength and his abilities just because he’s different, just because he doesn’t abide by the rules of a world that’s not meant to be <i>his</i>, just because he isn’t what a Manes man is expected to be — and he points the sword back at his father’s throat. “Order them to stop this,” he hisses.</p><p>“What do you think you’re doing, Alexander?”</p><p>“Just do it,” he repeats, pressing the tip of the sword into his father’s skin just enough to draw blood. “Order your men to stop and leave this ship alone, and I will spare your life.”</p><p>“What if I don’t?” Jesse’s relentless, but he is more stubborn than his father. He applies enough pressure for the sword to cut through the skin a little bit deeper.</p><p>“Then you won’t live to see how we defeat them,” he threatens, but it’s more like a promise.</p><p>Time seems to slow down as Jesse Manes thinks about his chances; Flint is nervously glancing between Guerin and his father, as though trying to decide with whom he may put his loyalty, but it’s an easy decision made for him.</p><p>Jesse nods slowly, gulping as the sword digs deeper into his Adam’s apple, and yells, “Retreat!” When no one seems to hear him, he tries again, a little louder, voice broken and shaky. “Everyone, retreat! That’s an order! Retreat!”</p><p>There’s a trail of blood when Jesse and Flint flee the ship with the rest of their men, leaving a scent of cowardice and fear in their wake. He looks overboard as the other ship maneuvers to get as far away from them as possible, and sighs. Guerin’s by his side, when everyone’s calmed down enough after cheering for their victory.</p><p>They remain silent for a long while, until the sun’s long set on the horizon and the darkness has engulfed them. Everyone has taken the inebriated celebrations somewhere else, and they’re the only ones left on the decks.</p><p>“I told you to choose to live,” Guerin says, resting his hands on top of the railing, close enough for him to touch, but separated enough for him to feel like a whole ocean is between them.</p><p>“And I did,” he reassures Guerin, becoming bold enough to hook his pinky with Guerin’s. “I did.”</p>
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